I Me You I'm Your
by freudianslip87
Summary: Lisbon's in love with Jane, much to her dismay. Does he love her back? In the face of all the odds stacked against them, will Lisbon have the courage to follow her heart? T for some language.
1. Fools in Love

**A/N: Hey there! Welcome to my second Mentalist fanfic. Thanks to those of you who've reviewed the first one. Hopefully this one will be happier--eventually, you might have to be patient! And it has **_**chapters**_**!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Neither is the title. It's the title of a song by Jim Noir.**

**xxxx**

Chapter One: Fools in Love

_Fools in love, are there any other kinds of lovers?_

_Fools in love, is there any other kind of pain?_

_xxx_

Her mother used to say that falling in love was exhilarating, intoxicating, magical. She promised that it was the best feeling in the entire world. A younger Lisbon, at twelve, believed her wholeheartedly.

Adult Lisbon thinks it's a load of bull.

She thinks she is (maybe, possibly, _perhaps?) _in love and it sure as hell isn't magical or intoxicating or any of that nonsense. To be perfectly blunt, it kind of _sucks._ She has to wonder if her mother (_no offense, Mom)_ was deluded.

Then again, her mother wasn't in love with Patrick Jane. Teresa, however, is (a little, kind of, _sort of?_) and she definitely doesn't have the whole starry eyed and love-struck thing going on. Quite the opposite, really. In the movies, being in love (if she _is_ in love…maybe she's not, right?) makes people want to sing and dance and tell the whole world.

She's perfectly content pretending the entire thing doesn't exist. Despite what _he_ says, she can be a good liar, especially to herself. And even if he _does_ notice something, he won't _do_ anything about it. It would ruin the whole pretty boy, charm-oozing, emotionally distant jackass routine he's got going on.

So even if he knows (_if_ there's anything _to _know…) he won't say.

At any rate, she's too old to believe a mother's fairy tale and she's learning firsthand that being in love isn't all it's cracked up to be. Especially when the object of your affections is utterly, completely, without a doubt unavailable (because he _is,_ isn't he?).

She never set out to love him. Maybe that's why they call it _falling_ in love. It's not something you do on purpose. It happens _to_ you, even if you don't want it. And she certainly (probably, maybe) didn't ask for it. He's _Patrick Jane_, after all. Egotistical, out of control, vengeful _maniac._

Goddamn it she's an idiot. A klutz when it comes to love—_falling_ when it's possibly the most dangerous. Wipeout. Man overboard. Down she goes…

She's in love with him (god, she really is, isn't she?) and she doesn't even know _why._ He's certainly not her type. The opposite, in fact. Then again, she can't help but remember what an old roommate once said about types. _No one really has a Type, Teresa. We just think we do to play it safe. There are no types, only people._

She wonders what her friend would say about Jane.

But, regardless of types or no types, she has feelings for Jane. She has to admit it, if only to herself. Knowing him, he probably figured it out ages ago and is just waiting to see what she'll do. _He _certainly won't make a move (he _won't_, right?); he has Red John to think about. He can't allow himself to be distracted (sidetracked, romanced, _seduced_) by agents with abandonment issues and a tendency to over-analyze.

She spends a lot of her time constructing a carefully controlled façade of control and confidence. She is the cool and collected, tough-as-nails (because she _has_ to be) Agent Lisbon. She's steady and controlled and _in charge._ She likes rules and sticks to them.

And she's in love with Patrick Jane. Her egotistical, irritating, slightly maniacal (handsome, charming, _compassionate)_ consultant with a damning, dangerous, horrifying (sometimes helpful, _heroic)_ disregard for the rules.

Dear god, what has she gotten herself into?

Xxx

**A/N 2: **Thanks for reading. Chapter title and lyrics at the beginning are from Inara George's _Fools in Love._


	2. Accidentally in Love

**A/N: Still not mine. Song and lyrics by Counting Crows.**

**xxx**

Chapter 2: Accidentally in Love

_Well I didn't mean to do it,_

_But there's no escaping your love…_

_xxx_

"How much do you love me?"

Lisbon sighs loudly and switches the phone to her other ear.

"What do you want, Jane?" she asks.

"First tell me how much you love me!"

_More than you know._

She quickly shakes aside that (completely _inappropriate) _thought and frowns.

"Umm…more than getting shot, less than a root canal."

"Li-is-bo-on!" Jane wines. "Be serious!"

"I am," she says wryly. "Now, _what_ do you want?"

"A ride."

"A ride," she echoes. "What happened to _your_ car?"

"Got towed." He sounds so pitiful (_adorable…)_ she has to bite back a laugh. She shakes her head sharply. She needs to get a grip.

"How did that happen?"

"I'm at this park," he explains, "and I guess you're not supposed to park on the grass…"

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, fine. Where are you?"

"Roseville."

Amusement gone, she growls in annoyance. "Jane! That's 20 minutes away _without_ traffic! I'm busy here!"

"Please?" he whines. "It's getting hot out here and I'm hungry."

She sighs. "Okay. Give me directions."

"Thanks Lisbon! I _knew_ you loved me. Even _more_ than a root canal!"

"Don't bet on it," she mutters, hanging up.

Five minutes later, after explaining to the team where she's going, she's in her car.

Of all the bloody things. Only Jane would manage to get his car towed for parking it on the grass in a public park. Only Jane would ever park there in the _first_ place.

At least he's not in jail this time. Yet.

She_ really_ has to stop bailing him out. He's come to expect it and he rarely even _tries_ to stay out of trouble anymore. He's _insufferable._

Then again, he _will_ probably insist on taking her out for dinner for her trouble. Granted, he'll poke, prod, tease, and annoy her until she'll wish she'd simply gone back to her (empty, lonely, _depressing_) apartment for Chinese takeout and a bad TV movie. But he'll try. And tomorrow she'll probably find one of his obnoxious (cute, charming, surprisingly well made…) origami animals on her desk. And he'll proceed to behave for a little while. Maybe.

When she gets to the park, she finds him sitting in the grass making a dandelion chain. When he sees her, he hops up and runs over, creation in hand.

"I made you this," he says. "Thanks for coming to get me."

She rolls her eyes and takes the chain. "Lovely," she says sarcastically. "Reminds me of the ones I made when I was _five._"

"You do call me an overgrown child sometimes," he grins. "Come on. I'll buy you dinner. Then we'll track down my car."

She smiles to herself—she knows him (far, _far_) too well.

Xxx

Her doorbell rings, a succession of quick buzzes as though the visitor is leaning on the button. Groaning, she hefts herself up and shuffles to answer it. Who the hell…?

She stops short. Only one person would ring the bell like that.

_Jane…_

Damn him. She's taking her first sick day in two years and _he_ shows up.

"What do you want?" she croaks, swinging the door open.

"I'm here to check on the patient," he says cheerily. "Hightower said you were sick." He holds up a couple of shopping bags. "I brought food."

Too tired to argue with him, she lets him in and heads back to the couch. He tags after her eagerly and plops down beside her.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, reaching out his (soft, cool, remarkably _gentle_) hand to feel her forehead. "Damn, Lisbon, you're burning up!"

"I'm fine," she says hoarsely. He rolls his eyes, ignoring her.

"I brought chicken soup," he tells her. "And some pie if you're up for something sweet. Oh! And some buttered noodles from that new Italian place!"

She makes a face. "I really don't want anything, Jane." She doesn't tell him that the way her stomach's been churning, she hasn't been able to keep anything down all day. Being Jane, however, he seems to guess.

"Tea and crackers, then," he decides, hopping up. Before she can protest, he's taken off for the kitchen, bags in hand. She closes her eyes and leans back on the couch.

What the _hell_ is he doing here? Doesn't she get enough of him when she's healthy? Not to mention she must look like absolute _shit…_

He returns a few minutes later with a plate of crackers and a steaming mug.

"Crackers and peppermint tea," he says, setting them in front of her. "Good for settling the stomach."

"Jane…"

"Just a few nibbles," he urges. "That's all." He flashes his signature (charming, sexy, _megawatt_) grin and pushes the plate closer to her. "Please?"

Sighing, she picks up a cracker and nibbles at it. When it goes down okay, she picks up another. To her astonishment, this little meal of his seems to be _helping._

"See?" he says proudly, seeming to read her mind (_of course)._

She ignores him and focuses on eating slowly. When she's done, she shoves the plate and mug aside. Her stomach _does_ feel a little better but her head's still pounding and she feels cold and achy. In spite of the hot tea and the warm weather, she's shivering. He, of course, notices.

"Chills?" he asks. When she nods shortly, he moves closer to her. "C'mere."

_Yes, please._

"No."

"Come on!"

"No! Besides, I'm probably contagious."

He slides an arm around her and tries to tug her closer. "Doesn't matter. I can use my psychic powers to ward off disease."

"No you can't."

He pauses. "No. I can't. But I _don't care._ Come _here._" Not waiting for a response, he pulls her forcibly toward him, settling her against his (warm, broad, _surprisingly well muscled_) chest.

Involuntarily, she relaxes, letting her head sag against him. He rubs her back, soothing her aching muscles.

"Better, right?" he brags.

_Yes. Oh, yes._

"Maybe."

"Liar." He laughs softly. "Just relax. I promise to behave myself."

"Yeah, that'll last," she mumbles sleepily. He's rubbing her back and shoulder and it's remarkably soothing. She feels a little like she's melting away.

His voice is soft and gentle in her ear. "For you, Lisbon," he murmurs, "I'll do my very best." He pauses a beat before adding, "Until you're healthy again, of course. Then you're fair game."

She laughs softly, glad for the flash of normalcy. "That's good, Jane," she says. "Don't tell anyone, but I wouldn't have it any other way."

As the words fall from her mouth, she can't believe she actually spoke them. She can't even believe she _thought_ them. Jane is annoying and arrogant and _pompous._ He has a flagrant disregard for the rules that he tosses in her face regularly. (And he came to check on her and he's holding her because she's sick and he's not even teasing her about it…)

She is _so screwed…_


	3. Running up that Hill

**Disclaimer: Guess what! It's not mine!**

**A/N: Chapter title and lyrics by Placebo.**

**xxx**

Chapter 3: Running up that hill

Xxx

_And if I only could_

_Make a deal with God_

_And get Him to swap our places…_

_xxx_

"Do you ever wonder why we do this job?"

Lisbon looks at Grace in surprise. When she sees that her fellow agent is serious, she pauses.

"Sometimes," she muses. "But usually I know." She frowns. "Why do you ask?"

The younger agent shrugs. "It's just…it can be such a _hard_ job sometimes. Doesn't ever just feel like the costs outweigh the gains?"

"Maybe," Lisbon says reflectively. "Sometimes. It _is_ a hard job." There is no denying that. Take the case they've just closed. The victim was a med student who left behind a mountain of debt and a pregnant wife. The woman's lost her husband (_violently…)_, is in financial ruin, and has to raise a baby alone.

"So you do wonder?" Grace presses.

Lisbon sets down her pen and looks at her steadily. "What brought this on?" she asks. "Is it the last case?"

"Kind of. We…we just see so much bad stuff. And it gets a little hard to deal with sometimes."

"It does," Lisbon agrees slowly. She wonders briefly if she (cold, abrasive, _socially awkward_) is the one Grace should be having this conversation with.

"I used to talk to Rigsby about it," Grace continues. "But now…" She lowers her eyes.

Now Lisbon _really _doesn't want to be having this conversation (so-called _girl talk_ has never been her forte), but it's obvious that the younger woman needs a friend and apparently she's it.

"You broke it off," she says. "For the job."

Grace nods. "He was willing to transfer so we could stay together. But I couldn't let him. He'd resent me for it eventually, even if he said he wouldn't."

Lisbon is not necessarily surprised by Rigsby's willingness but she _is_ impressed by the rookie agent's prudence.

"You did the right thing," she says. "And, for what it's worth, I would've kept looking the other way if Hightower hadn't found out."

"I know," Grace says with a small smile. She sighs. "I know rules are there for a reason but do you ever just _hate_ them?"

Lisbon shrugs. "Not really. Like you said they're there for a reason." (They keep her sane, grounded…they make _sense…_)

"What about you and Jane?"

"What about us?" Her confusion sounds false even to her own ears. She nearly laughs at herself.

Grace gives her a long look (one that says _come on,_ _Lisbon_).

"What?" Lisbon repeats, eliciting an eye roll (if it wouldn't look suspicious she'd yell at her for blatant disrespect).

"Don't play dumb with me, Lisbon. We all know you're in love with Jane. Except for Jane that is. _And_ everyone but you knows he's in love with you."

"_What?"_ Now she really is confused. It takes a moment for her to collect herself. "I'm not in love with Jane," she adds, belatedly. (_Liar…)_

Grace merely smiles. "Okay, Lisbon," she says simply. "Okay."

Xxx

It's been the day from hell. Objectively, she's had worse, but it still _sucked._ God, she's tired (physically, emotionally, mentally…), but the thought of going home makes her want to scream (cry, get drunk, slit her wrists…). So she settles in for a night of paperwork at the office.

She's barely started when there's a tap on the door.

"Come in," she calls. She's pretty fairly (_almost entirely) _sure she knows who it is. Sure enough, a moment later, Jane appears.

"Hi Lisbon," he says. "I was going to come and see if you wanted to go out to dinner with me but I had a feeling you wouldn't want to. So I brought takeout."

"You thought right. And I'm not hungry," she replies. She is _not _(really!) in the mood for his company right now.

"You're definitely hungry," he chides her. "You barely ate lunch. Come on! I've got it all set up in the kitchen."

"No."

Not to be deterred, he strides over and grabs her arm, forcibly tugging her to her feet.

"Food," he orders. "Now."

Rolling her eyes, she lets him drag her to the kitchen. He's brought Thai food—one of her favorites—and has everything nicely laid out. It's Friday and they have no open cases so the place is deserted.

"See?" he says, not missing the pleased look on her face. She ignores him and plops down in a chair. Grinning, he sits across from her. "So," he says. "What's got you here late on a Friday?"

"Paperwork."

"That can wait until Monday," he reminds her. "C'mon, Lisbon, spill." He waggles his eyebrows at her. "I can always hypnotize you…"

"You wouldn't," she says sharply. (At least she _hopes_ he wouldn't…)

"Probably not," he agrees. "But seriously. What's up? Man troubles? Apartment invaded by aliens?"

She scowls. "I'm really not on the mood, Jane. Can we just eat, please?"

"Not until you tell me what's going on. Maybe I can help."

"I don't think so," she says flatly (because he _can't…_not this time). When he simply looks at her, waiting, she sighs. "My brother Tommy's in jail. Again."

"Again?" he echoes.

She winces. She didn't mean to tell him. He just has a knack for sucking information about of her.

"As in for the second time," she says. "He was in once before, for drugs. He's been in trouble since he was a teenager."

She doesn't want to talk about him, spill her secrets. But he's wearing this intense gaze, one that says _let me help you_ and the words fall from her mouth.

"After my mom died, I mostly raised my brothers. Our dad was…well, he tried for a little while. But he started drinking within the year. Turned into someone else entirely."

"How old were you?" Jane asks. He's looking her steadily, his gaze calm and nonjudgmental.

"Twelve. My brother Bryan was ten, Tommy was eight and Jason was four. Dad didn't know _what_ to do with us, I think. He was just shattered when Mom died." Now that she's started talking, the words are flowing fast. "He'd scream and yell at us…saying _horrible _things."

"Did he hit you?" Jane asks levelly.

She does _not_ want to answer that. She doesn't…

"Yes," she blurts out. "I did my best to protect my brothers and care for them but I _couldn't._ And all the while Tommy was already getting into trouble. Vandalism, truancy, shoplifting." She shakes her head. "I didn't know how to handle him."

"You were a kid," Jane reminds her. His (beautiful, startlingly _blue_) eyes are gentle and uncharacteristically compassionate.

She shrugs. "I was. We all were. When I was sixteen…." She swallows hard. "Dad came home one night. He was sober for once but there was something wrong. He had a gun." God, her voice is shaking.

Jane grabs her hand and, against her better judgment, she doesn't pull away. Instead, she enjoys the gentle warmth of his grip.

"He said we'd all be better off dead," she continues, shoving blindly onward. Now that she's begun she intends to finish it. He wanted to know, after all. "His plan was to kill us and then himself."

Jane's grip on her hand tightens and he runs his thumb over her knuckles. She's momentarily distracted by the soothing (_slightly sexy)_ sensation.

"Lisbon?" he prods. "What happened?"

She shakes her head, clearing it. "I begged him not to. I literally got on my knees and begged. When I saw he wouldn't budge, I told him that he shouldn't have to do it, that I would. That he should take his own life and I'd take care of the rest."

"And he believed you?"

"Yes." She closes her eyes. The image of her father standing before her, maniacal, with a gun pressed to his head is burned into her memory. She can still hear the shot go off and she flinches. "He said," she tells Jane, "that he could always count on me. It was probably the first nice thing he'd said to me in years. And then he shot himself in the head."

"Lisbon…" Jane's expression is raw somehow, almost animalistic in its emotion. She's never seen him look like this, at least not when it doesn't have to do with Red John. And he he's feeling it for _her._

"I tried to file for legal emancipation," she continues, wanting to get the rest out fast. "I wanted to keep us together and raise my brothers myself. I was denied, partially because of all of Tommy's trouble. I blamed him and we fought a lot. He blamed me for things, too."

"Your dad's death?" Jane surmises.

She nods. "We were shuffled around the foster system. I was only in for two years but Jason was in for ten. Nothing's been the same between any of us since. And then Tommy got in trouble with drugs and went to jail and we've hardly talked since."

"And now he's back in jail."

She nods.

"For drugs?"

"No." She shudders. "I mean, kind of. His dealer, um, has a niece. She's about sixteen, I guess. And he's raising her. Tommy…Tommy…" She closes her eyes. "Tommy raped her. Anyway, she told a teacher at her school and the teacher called the cops and Tommy was arrested."

There, she's said it. Her baby brother is a druggie and a rapist. A _rapist._ Her little baby brother. Thinking about it makes her feel ill and after saying the words, she can hardly control the need to vomit.

"That doesn't have anything to do with you," Jane says in that soothing voice of his. "It's not your fault, Lisbon."

"It has everything to do with me," she snaps, yanking her hand from his grasp so she can bury her face. "I'm a _cop,_ Jane. I _take down_ bad guys. I see people do horrible things to other people all the time. And my little brother is one of the ones _doing_ the awful things." She shudders, taking deep breaths to try and keep from crying. "I doubt it's the first thing he's done. And that little girl…"

"I know," he says. "But that doesn't make _you_ less of a cop and it doesn't make it your fault."

She lifts her head to look at him. "I was raped," she blurts out. "In my first foster home. They were _nice_ people and Jason and I were placed together. I didn't want us to be separated so I didn't say anything. It only happened once."

There is a long (awkward, painful, _excruciating_) silence. For once, Jane is speechless. Lisbon can feel her heart pounding (so loud he can probably hear it). They stare at one another. Finally, she jumps to her feet so fast she knocks her chair over.

"I should go," she chokes out. "I shouldn't have dumped all of this on you. Sorry, Jane."

How could she have _told_ him all of that? What must he _think_ of her now? She's Agent Lisbon (strong, tough, _invincible_) not some tragic case. Not waiting for him to respond, she bolts for her office. He, of course, chases her. He wouldn't be Jane if he didn't.

"Lisbon," he says, ducking inside before she can shut the door. "Lisbon, stop."

She turns away and tries to regain some semblance of control (_breathe…_) but she can't stop the tears that cascade down her cheeks. He turns her around to face him.

"Don't hide from me, Lisbon," he says earnestly. "It's not necessary."

"I'm not hiding," she lies. "I just want you to go away." She needs to be alone, to gather herself (_rebuild her walls…_) and become the strong Lisbon she is _supposed_ to be again.

"I'm not leaving," he says and in this moment she _doesn't_ love him. She hates him, hates him, _hates him._ He's wormed his way into her life and tricked her into trusting him and now she's spilled her darkest secrets.

"Go," she rasps. "Please, Jane." She's really crying now and she doesn't want him to see that.

"No." He grabs her and pulls her firmly toward him, wrapping her in a tight hug. "You can't tell me all of that and expect me to leave you alone."

_God damn him. _She struggles to pull away, fighting against his hold, but he's _strong_ when he wants to be. He holds on tighter, refusing to let go.

"I'm not leaving," he says. "We're friends aren't we? Let me be your friend, Lisbon."

After another minute or so of struggling, she sags, leaning into his (_comforting_) embrace. Why the hell does he have to be so stubborn (loving, chivalrous, _knight-in-shining-armor_)? She cries (embarrassingly, disgustingly) into his chest, getting snot and tears all over his suit. He simply rocks her gently, stroking her hair.

When her tears finally slow, he speaks, his chin pressed to the top of her head.

"I had no idea, Lisbon. I'm so sorry."

She pulls away sharply. "I didn't want anyone to know. No one was ever supposed to find out."

_Including you. _

"No one would think any less of you," he says.

"But they would think _differently._ I'm not supposed to be screwed-up, damaged Lisbon. I'm the _boss,_ I'm in charge. I'm not this person! I don't want—"

She is cut off by his hands gripping her upper arms and his lips on hers.

_Oh…my…God._

After a brief hesitation, she gives into the kiss, feeling the warmth and softness of his lips. He tastes _amazing,_ like vanilla and peppermint and something she can't identify. He lifts one hand to rake through her hair, pressing her closer.

_Holy shit….what the __**hell **__is she doing?_

She wrenches away, gasping for air. God_damn_ he's a good kisser…

"What the hell was that?" she demands as she tries to catch her breath.

"A kiss," he says simply. (_Only the best she's ever had…)_ "I might be mistaken but it seemed like you were enjoying it, too."

_Of course I was, you idiot._

"That's not the point."

He reaches out to touch her cheek but she steps back.

"Jane," she says pleadingly. "We _can't._"

"Lisbon," he begs, trying to touch her again. _God she wants him to…_She yanks away again.

"I have to go," she manages to say. "Please, please don't follow me."

Refusing to meet his gaze, she grabs her keys and her purse and nearly sprints from her office, leaving a very confused Patrick Jane behind.

Xxx

**A/N: Hang in there! I promise it'll get better eventually, just be patient. But hey! You got a Jisbon kiss! Thanks for reading!**


	4. I'm Not Going Anywhere

**Disclaimer: Guess what! It's not mine!**

**A/N: Chapter title and lyrics by Karen Ann.**

**xxx**

Chapter 4: I'm Not Going Anywhere

Xxx

_People come and go and walk away_

_But I'm not going anywhere, I'm not going anywhere…_

_xxx_

She doesn't sleep. She tosses and turns all night until sunrise, when she finally drags herself out of bed takes a shower. She doesn't dare go to the CBI in case _he's_ there so she gets out her laptop and attempts to do some work from home.

He _kissed_ her. As in actual _lip to lip contact._

She should've slapped him. Or kicked him in the balls. She should've done _anything_ but kiss him back. He should _not_ have done that, crossed that line.

(_But, damn, she wishes he'd do it again_.)

She can_not_ be with Patrick Jane. Rules and regulations of the CBI aside, they are absolutely, 100% _wrong_ for each other. Oil and water, they do not mix. Opposites. She's a cop, serious and obedient and by-the-book. And he's…he's _Jane._

She wishes briefly that she had friends to talk to, who could tell her what the hell she's supposed to do now. She wishes her mother were still alive and she could call her and ask advice. She's not close to her brothers and all of her friends are work colleagues. The closet thing she has to a girl friend is van Pelt and she's definitely not calling her.

It's a shame really, because it was the kind of kiss you brag to your friends about. She hates to be a cliché but it really was a fairy-tale first kiss. The kind that makes you dizzy and weak in the knees (passionate, sexy, _intoxicating_) and she sort of wishes she could tell someone about it.

Since she can't, she opens a new document on her laptop and makes a list of reasons why she and Jane are _all wrong_ for each other. She goes on and on about his negative qualities in an attempt to convince herself that he's really just a jackass who happens to be a phenomenal kisser.

It doesn't work and she has to resist the urge to counteract the negativity with all of the things she likes (_loves_) about him.

When she's done, she saves it under password (_armadillo—_her mother's favorite animal) in case Jane ever gets his hands on her laptop and decides to go snooping. Once that's accomplished, she throws on her workout clothes and goes for a run. It's something that usual helps her clear her head.

Not today. All she can think about is Patrick Jane and his (_unbelievable_) kisses. She hurries home and takes a cold shower after which she stretches out on her couch and finally falls asleep.

And dreams about Jane, of course. The dreams are _not_ G-rated, to say the least. Time for another cold shower.

Xxx

She isn't all that surprised when he shows up that evening. She's kind of been expecting him. Still, she attempts to play dumb.

"What are you doing here?"

He crosses his arms. "Don't you think we should talk?" he asks. She sighs.

"Yes. I suppose." She's having trouble knowing where to look. Every time she glances at his face, her eyes are drawn to his lips. Keeping her gaze on the floor, she leads the way to the living room.

"You know," he says, "it'd help if you _looked_ at me."

Blushing, she struggles to meet his gaze. He beams.

"Better. So. Last night. I kissed you and then you ran away."

She nods. "I was there, Jane," she says wryly. "I remember."

"You kissed me back," he adds. "So I know it wasn't because you didn't want it." He reaches for her hand but she yanks it away.

"Please don't," she begs. "We _can't_ do this." _As much as we might want to._

"You won't even consider it?" he asks.

She shakes her head. She _can't_ consider it.

"Are you really not interested? Do you honestly not feel that way?"

"You know I do," she says quietly.

He reaches for her hand again and this time she lets him. "Why, then?" he asks.

"Well, there are rules, for one thing. The CBI won't allow it." She grabs onto the most logical thing, the one that makes the most sense and won't make her look like a fool. (_You're still in love with your first wife and I can't compete with that_ doesn't really bode well.)

"I'll quit," he says simply. He rests his free hand on her leg. (_Oh my God…)_

"I can't let you do that," she manages to say. She's having trouble concentrating thanks to his hand placement. She removes it carefully but deliberately. He frowns.

"Why not?" he asks.

She pulls her hand from his and slides away from him. She can't have this conversation with him _touching_ her.

"Do you know why van Pelt broke up with Rigsby?" she asks. She knows it sounds like a complete non-sequitur but she can't think of any other argument to throw at him.

"She didn't want him to resent her someday for making him transfer," Jane says. At her surprised look, he grins slightly. "Rigsby told me."

"Same principle applies," she tells him. "You want to catch Red John. You _live_ for it. And working with us is basically your only chance to do it."

"True," he agrees. He seems to see where she's going with this. "Damn you, woman," he sighs.

She shrugs apologetically. "I know you," she says softly. There are a thousand other reasons why they can't be together but he seems to be accepting this one.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "Because I could try…"

"I'm sure," she says without hesitating. He takes her hand yet again, his gaze sorrowful.

"Does that mean we can leave it at _maybe someday?"_

She nods without meaning to. "Maybe someday," she agrees. "But not now."

He leans forward and kisses her forehead lightly. "You really are an amazing woman," he says.

She blushes slightly and he laughs.

"Do you want me to go now?" he asks. She nods. She can't trust herself to be around him just now. Not with that kiss still fresh in her mind.

"Yeah, I think so," she says. "I'll see you Monday, okay?"

"Okay."

She stands up to see him to the door. He pauses before stepping out, catching her hand in his.

"I'm still here for you. You know that, right?"

"Yes. I trust you." (_Except with my heart; I can't do that…not yet.)_

He beams. "Good." He lifts her hand and kisses the back of it. "Goodnight, Lisbon."

She manages a smile as he backs away. "Night, Jane."

Once he's gone, she sags against the closed door, raking her fingers through her hair. After taking a few moments to gather herself, she strides to her DVD case to pick out a movie—something decidedly _unromantic._

Still, as she watches the opening credits, her mind begins to drift.

_Maybe someday…_

Xxx

**A/N 2: I know this one was a little shorter. Might be a few days before the next update.**


	5. So Close

**Disclaimer: Not mine! Title and Lyrics by John McLauglin (you might know it from the **_**Enchanted**_** soundtrack)**

**xxx**

Chapter 5: So Close

Xxx

_How should I face the faceless days_

_If I should lose you now?_

_We're so close_

_To reaching that famous happy end…_

_xxx_

It surprises her how normal they are in the weeks following The Kiss. Jane still teases and annoys her (_incessantly)_ and she glares and scowls and (sort of, usually, _mostly)_ attempts to keep him in line. He still tries his mentalist tricks on her and leaves little gifts on her desk. They're still _them_ and it astonishes her slightly.

Sometimes, though, she catches him looking her with a sad sort of longing. When he sees her looking, he will smile (gently, sweetly) as though to reassure her. She will smile back and nod just slightly.

It's comforting, somehow, to know they are moving toward their _someday_, but she also fears it. She knows (_all too well…)_ his plans for Red John and they aren't something she can accept. He plans to kill the notorious serial killer and that breaks (smashes, crushes, shatters…) her heart. It will probably be the crowning bitter moment in a long chain of crappy events in her life to have to arrest the man she's in love with (_she can admit it now)_ for murder.

It's kind of like a cheesy soap-opera plot, really. She would laugh, except it's _true_ and therefore decidedly unfunny.

She's in love with a man who loves her back (_miraculous),_ but he's (_a little bit_) crazy, (_completely_) vengeful, and hell bent on murder. So much for happily-ever-after.

But when he smiles that secret kind of smile, the one he reserves just for her, she can't help but believe. Just a little bit.

Xxx

It's been a long case and they're all exhausted. The suspect (who Jane is _sure_ is guilty) is more than a little unpredictable and Lisbon asks (_begs_) Jane to stay in the car.

"I mean it," she says firmly, hands on her hips.

He pouts at her "Lisbon…"

"I'm serious, Jane. _Stay in the car."_ She can't tell him that having him near the action makes it impossible for her to focus, that she can't think over the pounding of her heart until she knows he's safe and (_figuratively)_ sound.

"Seriously, man," Cho says. "Wait here."

Jane frowns but obeys, settling into the car. "Be careful," he tells them. He says it jovially but when his eyes meet Lisbon's, she can see the (_overwhelming)_ sincerity in them.

"We will," she promises, double checking her weapon before nodding at the others. They enter the old house carefully, guns drawn.

"Clear!" Rigsby calls as he checks the kitchen.

"Clear!" Grace shouts from the living room before tailing Cho upstairs. Lisbon heads for the back of the house. Her palms are sweating slightly and she holds her gun tighter.

"Cl—" She is cut off by their suspect, Trevor Wilkins, leaping out at her from a closet. He has a wild look in his eye and his gun is aimed at her chest.

She gulps. For a moment, her mind jumps to Jane, safe in the car. (_Thank God_.)

"Easy there," she says. "Just take it easy, okay Trevor?"

"Take it easy?" he echoes. "You're about to arrest me, Agent Lisbon. I'm not taking _anything_ easy." He cocks his weapon, trigger finger twitching. He's agitated and volatile and definitely capable of shooting her. (_Why didn't she put on a vest?)_

_Focus_ she tells herself as a bead of sweat drips between her eyes. She adjusts her grip on her own weapon. _Where the hell are the others?_

"Don't move!" Wilkins hisses. "I'll shoot! Don't think I won't."

Something in his tone tells her not to doubt him and she relaxes her hand, which is trembling slightly.

"I'm not shooting," she says calmly. "Here. I'll put the gun down." She makes a show of setting her gun on the floor in front of her. "Now let's just talk, okay?"

"Talk?" Wilkins laughs. "There's no way I'm—" He is cut off by a blond-headed figure tacking him to the ground.

_Jane_ Lisbon's mind screams just as Wilkins shoots and pain explodes in her lower abdomen. She can't stop the scream that rips from her throat as she collapses to her knees.

_I've been shot…_She can hardly fathom it. But the pain is blinding and her blood is everywhere. Dimly, she sees Jane literally sitting on Wilkins, incapacitating him.

_(Wasn't he supposed to stay in the car?)_

The commotion has drawn the others to them and they instantly jump into action. Rigsby and Cho rush to cuff Wilkins and through her haze she can tell they are obeying protocol (_good job,_ she mentally congratulates them). Grace kneels at her side, putting pressure on the wound.

"Lisbon?" she says, her voice slightly panicky. "C'mon, boss. Stay with me."

"Trying," Lisbon manages to gasp. She knows it is necessary to press on the wound and try to stem the flow of blood but _god it hurts_.

"Lisbon!" That's Jane, scampering over. Obviously forgetting all sense of propriety, he pulls her head into his lap and strokes her hair. "Oh, my god. Lisbon."

"I…I'm f-fine…" (_He sounds so scared; she doesn't want to freak him out more.)_

"Sure," he says.

"Keep her conscious, Jane," Grace instructs. Her voice sounds very far away (_probably not a good sign…_)

"Hear that?" Jane asks. "You've got to stay conscious, okay? Just hang in there."

"W-why?" (_She knows why! Why can't she think of it?)_

"Because," he says, slipping one hand into hers. "If you're conscious you're not dead."

She wants to laugh at that but it hurts too much and she's so tired. Her entire body feels heavy and her mind's in a fog.

"Lisbon!" Jane shakes her sharply. "Lisbon, come on!" She opens her eyes to his panicked face, bent close to hers. "You have to hold on," he whispers. "You can't go anywhere. We haven't gotten our _someday_ yet."

Now she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. So she just focuses on breathing and squeezing his hand. She can hear sirens in the distance. Their voices fade in and out—Grace and Jane—calling to her, _begging_ her to stay with them.

_Hang on. Stay with us. Come on Lisbon. Hang on…_

Ooo

She opens her eyes to the steady beeping of machines. She's lying on something soft and her limbs feel heavy. There's a steady, throbbing pain at her abdomen, but nothing like before.

Slowly, she turns her head from side to side. _Hospital._ Jane is slumped in a chair to her left, her hand grasped in his. Smiling, she squeezes slightly. He's instantly alert.

"Lisbon?" There is relief etched all over his face. (_Was he really so scared?) _He gets up and leans over her. "How are you feeling? Do you want to sit up a little?"

She nods and he fiddles with something that makes the head of the bed rise up.

"Thanks," she croaks, grimacing at how rough her voice sounds. "Water?" she rasps.

He's like a little kid in his eagerness to help. In a flash, he has a cup filled with water and is helping her drink. The cool liquid helps clear her head and the events of the day start to come back to her.

"You saved my life," she says.

He actually blushes. "I saw him pointing that gun at you and I just…reacted."

"I told you to stay in the car," she reminds him, smiling slightly as she does so (_thank God he didn't)._

"I just had a feeling," he tells her. A tiny grin tugs at his lips as he teases, "I'm psychic after all."

"Are not," she retorts. This feels (_blissfully)_ normal and she's grateful. He squeezes her hand.

"You scared me," he tells her, his gaze (_smolderingly)_ serious. "I thought he'd killed you." She shudders slightly at the idea.

"Me, too," she admits. "But I'm fine….right?"

He nods. "You bled a lot but the bullet didn't hit anything major. You'll be out of commission for awhile but you're gonna be fine."

"Thank you," she whispers, "for tackling Wilkins."

He grins (_same old Jane)_ and pats her arm. "You're welcome," he says. "I'll take my payment in cash."

She rolls her eyes. "You look like hell," she tells him. "How long have you been here?"

"As long as you have—approximately 18 hours." He stretches and yawns. "I could use a change of clothes and some decent tea…"

"Go," she says.

He hesitates. "Well…since you _are_ back in the land of the living…"

"I'm fine," she insists. She needs some time away from him anyway—him and his worried hovering and smoldering looks.

"Okay," he agrees after another moment's hesitation. "Grace is around someplace, talking with the doctor. She'll be here in a minute." He kisses her forehead lightly and cups her cheek. "You scared me, Teresa," he says softly. "Try not to do it again."

"I'll do my best." Her voice quavers slightly and she blushes. He smiles knowingly and lopes from the room, waving over his shoulder. Once he's gone, Lisbon closes her eyes.

_He saved her life._

Patrick Jane saved her life. As in, she'd be dead if it weren't for him. _Dead._

She's still pondering the idea when the door creaks open. She turns to see Grace hovering there, coffee cup in hand. Her rookie agent looks better-rested than Jane but drained just the same. When she sees Lisbon's open eyes, however, she lights up.

"Boss!" she exclaims. "Hey…"

Lisbon smiles slightly. "Hi."

Grace hurries over and pulls up a chair. "How are you feeling? Where's Jane?"

"I feel fine—a little sore, but fine. I told Jane to go home. He looked like death warmed over."

"He refused to leave last night," Grace tells her. "He was so worried—we all were." She grabs Lisbon's hand. "You really scared us."

"I know." Lisbon can dimly remember Grace at the scene, putting pressure on the wound and shouting instructions at Jane. "Thank you," she says, "for at the scene…"

Grace waves her off. "I was making it up as I went."

"Well, you did everything right." Lisbon squeezes her hand. "_Thank you."_ It has suddenly occurred to her that she doesn't thank her agents enough, doesn't appreciate them. They're good at what they do and they always have her back, even if they're not actively saving her life. (_She owes them more than they'll ever know…)_

"I still haven't figured out how Jane managed it," Grace muses, "tackling Wilkins like that."

Lisbon shrugs. She's never sure how Jane manages _anything._ He really did come out of nowhere, like some kind of superhero. (_Not that she'll ever tell __**him **__that.)_

"He was so worried," Grace adds. "He kept pacing and saying something about _someday._" Her brow furrows. "Are you two…?"

"No," Lisbon says quickly. (_Not now, not yet, we can't…)_

"Why?" Grace exclaims. Lisbon almost laughs at her astonishment.

"Why'd you break up with Rigsby?" she counters, answering the question with a question. Grace looks bewildered at first, then understanding dawns on her face.

"Oh," she sighs. "I…wow. So you…? _Wow."_ She shakes her head. "So by someday…After Red John?"

"Maybe." Lisbon frowns. "You tell Cho or Rigsby about this conversation and I'll hunt you down and kill you."

Grace laughs. "I wouldn't expect anything less," she says and Lisbon laughs, too.

She's not surprised the (_sometimes annoyingly)_ observant rookie agent figured it out. And while she'll never share _all_ of the details, it's rather nice that someone else knows. Someone else is rooting for them.

Looking forward to _someday._


	6. Crash and Burn

**A/N: Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I love all of your comments and I'm so glad you're enjoying this story. Seriously, every single review means the world to me, even if I can't answer all of them individually. **

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. Sad. Chapter title and lyrics by Savage Garden**

**Xxx**

Chapter 6: Crash and Burn

Xxx

_When you feel all alone_

_And the world has turned its back on you_

_Give me a moment please to tame your wild, wild heart_

_xxx_

"I _swear, _that man just goes _looking_ for trouble," Lisbon grumbles.

"Actually," Grace says thoughtfully, shifting in her seat, "I think trouble goes looking for _him."_

They are currently sitting in the emergency waiting room, waiting for Jane to get patched up after a run in with an angry drunk throwing broken beer bottles. Apparently this drunk had very good aim.

"He provoked the guy," Lisbon says. "I'd have thrown something at him, too." She shakes her head in frustration. "He's completely unmanageable."

Grace simply smiles, earning a glare.

"Shut up." Lisbon is _not_ in the mood to be teased.

"Sorry." Grace stands up, stretching. "It's probably going to be awhile. Want some coffee?"

"Sure. Thanks." Lisbon watches her retreating back, glad for a moment alone.

It wasn't that long ago that she would've been infuriated with Jane. Perhaps a little amused but mostly infuriated. And her anger would have been at the waste of time and compromising the case. Now she worries that he'll get himself killed. And she's _way_ (entirely!) too amused by the whole thing.

The man had beer bottles thrown at him! By a drunk! And all she can drum up is amusement and mild worry.

She (_really)_ needs to get a grip. She and Jane are _just_ friends and they have a job to do. They aren't even close to _someday_ yet. She needs to stop thinking about him this way _now._

When Jane's doctor appears a few moments later, she jumps to her feet. The doctor smiles cheerfully.

"He's good to go. We've got him on painkillers so he's a little loopy but he's fine."

Lisbon can't help but roll her eyes. "Are you sure it's the painkillers?" she asks. The doctor laughs.

"I'll draw up the discharge papers," he says. "They'll be at the nurses' station."

Lisbon thanks him and hurries into Jane's room. He's sitting on the edge of the examination table, smiling to himself. It's a little (okay, a _lot_) cute but is really more humorous than anything. Lisbon suppresses a smile.

"I swear," she greets him. "You're like the fourth stooge or something."

"Lisbon!" he cries, either ignoring or (likely) not understanding her remark. "You're here!"

She snorts. "I am," she agrees. "You ready to go?"

His head bobs up and down, curls bouncing. "You bet," he says. "I'm so out of here." He pokes her arm. "I got stitches," he tells her.

"I heard." She bits her lip, trying to hide her amusement. "Do they hurt?"

"Not now." He grins widely. "I must have a pretty high pain tolerance, huh?"

"Drugs," she informs him. He pouts.

"I'm not on drugs!"

She raises an eyebrow. "Really? Because I think you are."

"Not!" He sounds like a petulant child. They're still bickering when Grace walks in, coffee cups in hand.

"Hi," she says, holding a cup out for Lisbon which Jane tries to grab.

"That's for Lisbon," Grace informs him. When his face falls, she laughs. "It's coffee," she adds.

"Coffee?" he echoes, making disgusted face. "Blech."

Grace's eyebrows shoot up and Lisbon snickers.

"Drugs," she explains and Grace nods knowingly. Jane scowls. (_He really is a child…_)

"I'm not on drugs!" he insists.

"Sorry buddy," Grace informs him, "you definitely are." She looks at Lisbon. "You can_not_ take him back to the CBI like this."

_Definitely not._

"I won't," Lisbon assures her. "He can crash on my couch for awhile."

"But my CBI couch!" Jane whines. Lisbon pats his arm.

"My couch is almost as comfy," she promises. "And you can go back to yours tomorrow. Okay?" She feels like she's talking to a five year old. (Except she wouldn't be in _love_ with a five year old, she hopes…Because that'd be pedophilia…) She shakes her head sharply. (The places her mind _goes_ sometimes…)

With some effort and no small amount of whining and bickering, they manage to get Jane to Lisbon's car.

"Good luck with that," Grace says once they have him settled. "Call us if you need help."

"We'll be fine," Lisbon promises. "Thanks van Pelt." She gives the rookie agent a quick wave and climbs into the driver's seat. "Off we go," she says. Earlier arguments forgotten, Jane grins.

"I can't wait to try out your couch," he says.

When they arrive at her place, he settles in right away, making himself at home (_typical). _Lisbon watches with some amusement as he tries out the couch.

"Pretty good," he allows. "Mind if I take a nap?"

She shakes her head. "Be my guest." (_Anything to shut him up.)_

He must really be drugged because he falls asleep almost instantly. And she is left wondering what it means when a man falls asleep with his clothing rumpled, his tongue hanging out, and his mouth open and you still think he's hot.

She's not sure if she wants the answer.

Xxx

She finds him on the roof, staring out over the city. She's pretty sure he wants to be alone (she would), but she can't stand the thought of letting him stand around all miserable by himself. He won't leave _her_ to wallow and she'll be damned if she doesn't return the "favor."

"Hey," she says softly, moving to stand beside him. He doesn't look at her.

"I'd like to be alone," he says flatly. His tone tells her he's serious but she doesn't move (_look who's stubborn now_).

"Not happening," she tells him. They've just had another Red John case, got within inches (metaphorically, of course of catching the killer. But they failed. Again. She's getting really tired of failing him.

His gaze is unreadable and he refuses to look at her. She wonders briefly if he's angry with her. He often is during and after these cases. She's fairly certain he doesn't _mean_ to take his frustrations out on her but it sure doesn't stop him.

"We'll get him," she offers quietly. "I promise, Jane. We _will_ get him." God, those promises are starting to sound so empty. She's not sure if they have any value anymore. Sure enough, he turns to her with a slight snarl.

"You always say that and we _never_ do." He looks so tortured and she aches to help him.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm _sorry,_ Jane." She plucks desperately at his sleeve. "Talk to me," she begs. "You're always forcing _me_ to talk. Can't you take your own advice?"

He shrugs and she clutches is arm.

"We're friends," she tries to reason. "Aren't we?"

Again, he shrugs. "I don't know."

She will not (_cannot)_ let him know how much the comment stings. He won't scare her away. She slips her hand into his and squeezes. She's surprised when he doesn't pull away.

They stand in silence, gazing at the city lights.

"I came home that night," he says finally. "I saw their bodies…brutalized…"

She nods, cringing. She's seen enough grisly crime scenes to haunt her nightmares forever. She can't imagine coming home and finding someone she loves in that condition.

"Every time we get close to him," Jane continues, his voice strained and ragged, "I think I'll finally find some justice. Finally deliver some kind of payback for that night—for what he did to them."

"I know," she whispers. "And I'm so, _so_ sorry. I keep failing you and I'm sorry."

He actually turns to look at her. "Lisbon," he says gravely, "I'm pretty sure you're the _one_ person who has _never_ failed me."

His words bring tears to her eyes but she blinks them back. "Tell me about them," she urges. "All I know is the bad stuff. What were they like?"

He pauses briefly, staring at her as though he can't believe she's asked such a thing. She's about to take the question back when he speaks.

"My wife…Rachel…she was…amazing. She had this smile that could light up a room. And her laugh…" He trails off, shaking her head. "She loved crossword puzzles and playing Scrabble. And tea…she's the one who got me to start drinking it."

Lisbon nods, listening. There is undeniable longing in his tone and it tugs at her heart. She's (somewhat _painfully)_ sure that he'll never love _anyone_ (including her) the way he loved Rachel.

"You remind me a little of her," he adds. At her surprised look, he smiles slightly. "You're tough and stubborn," he explains. "And not willing to take anyone's crap—especially mine."

This is a fairly accurate assessment and she's surprised that it applies to his wife as well. She tightens her grip on his hand.

"What about your daughter?" she asks.

"Ella," he sighs, breathing her name like a sacred prayer. "She was so beautiful, Lisbon. She was bright and inquisitive, she wanted to know _about_ everything. She liked to dance and sing and she loved flowers. She didn't deserve what happened to her."

"Neither of them did," Lisbon murmurs. She can see the emotions warring on his face and she wraps her arms around him, leaning into his side. After a moment, his arms come around her shoulders and she feels him rest his cheek against her hair.

"I miss them," he whispers in a strangled tone. She can tell he is near tears.

"I know," she responds, hugging him tighter, as though she could somehow squeeze all that pain away.

"Constantly," he adds.

"I know," she repeats. "I'm sorry."

He begins to cry then, his tears soaking her hair. She holds onto him and refuses to let go. She has no words to say so she simply holds him as close as she can. When his sobs finally relent, he shifts slightly but doesn't release her.

"Would it be okay," he says thickly, "if I told you a little more about them?"

Her heart twists painfully. "Of…of course," she manages to say.

And so they huddle together on the roof of the CBI, wrapped an embrace, as he talks about his family. He tells story after story, pausing to cry sometimes, until the sky begins to lighten.

"We stayed up here all night," Jane realizes.

Lisbon nods, realizing how cold and stiff she is. She pulls away from him to stretch. He catches her hand in his, meeting her gaze seriously.

"Thank you," he says quietly. She doesn't think she's _ever_ heard him sound so sincere. It brings a lump to her throat and she has to blink back tears. The emotion he's conveyed in just two words is astonishing.

She squeezes his hand. "You're welcome."

Together, they make their way to their respective cars. Lisbon is eager to go home and hopefully catch a little sleep. Hightower doesn't expect them in until noon and she's grateful.

"Will you be okay?" she asks Jane. He nods and, somehow, she believes him.

"Thank you," he says again. "Really, Lisbon. I…"

"I know," she cuts him off. He shakes his head vehemently.

"You don't. You can't possibly know how much…" He trails off, looking utterly un-Jane-like.

"Maybe," she agrees. "Will you call me if you need anything?"

"Yeah."

Again, she believes him. He flashes her a quick smile and gets into his car. She watches him drive away before climbing into her own vehicle and heading home.

When she arrives back at the CBI hours later, there's an elaborate origami flower on her desk with a note beneath it. It's beautiful.

_Thank you,_ the note reads in Jane's handwriting, _for everything._

Xxx

**A/N 2: Hope you're all still with me. I know where this story is going and I should get there in the next couple of chapters. Thanks for reading!**


	7. Keep Breathing

**A/N: Here's chapter 7. Thank you to everyone again for reading, especially those who have reviewed. Hugs!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Never was. Never will be. Title and lyrics by Ingrid Michaelson**

**xxx**

Chapter 7:

Xxx

_I want to believe in more than you and me_

_But all that I know is I'm breathing._

_All we can do is keep breathing…_

_xxx_

It's been over six months since they heard a peep from Red John, so Lisbon is surprised when the lead pops up. After verifying that it's legitimate, she gets her team on it right away.

He's not going to kill anyone else. Not if she can help it.

They get the go-ahead from Hightower to focus all of their attention on the serial killer and throw themselves into the investigation. Lisbon keeps a worried eye on Jane, as do the others. She knows the stress is getting to him but she hasn't the faintest clue what to do about it.

She knows his plans. She has (mostly) given up on trying to talk him out of them. She knows he's aware of the consequences but she doubts he cares. Or if he does, revenge is more important. The knowledge cuts deep but there's not much (or anything, really) she can do about it.

It is strange hunting Red John when no one's dead (yet). She wonders if this whole thing is a trap but there is no way she is backing down. There's a reason she's known as the 'stubborn one.'

"Why can't we find him?"

Lisbon looks up from the file she's reading to look at Jane. He looks childlike and unsure, almost pleading. She rubs her forehead tiredly.

"I don't know. But we're trying, Jane. I promise."

"I know."

"So what's your plan?" she asks him. "For when we find him, I mean."

"You know." His voice is flat and resigned. "I know the consequences, Lisbon. And I'm willing to live with them."

"All of them?" she questions. (_Are you willing to live with losing me?)_

Something in his face twitches. "Most of them."

She has no idea what he means by that. "I can't talk you out of it?" she asks.

"Probably not." His face falls. "I'm sorry, Lisbon. I really am. If there was another way, I'd take it…"

"There is another way," she cuts him off. "Jane, if you let us do it our way—by the law—you'll see justice. I promise."

He leans forward, resting his hands on her desk. "I know," he says. "And I trust you. But it's not enough justice. Not for me." His gaze is intense (_fierce)_ and she knows he's not backing down.

"Okay," she says softly.

"I'm sorry." He sounds sad, beaten down. (She knows how he feels.)

"I know you are," she says. And she knows he is. But he isn't sorry enough. Because if he were, he wouldn't do this. He'd let her do it her way. He might be damned sorry. He's just not sorry enough.

Xxx

When she finally figures it out, she thinks she might be dreaming. She actually pinches herself (_ouch)_ to make sure. Once that's established, she goes back over the facts in her head, turning over all of the conclusions they've made over the past two weeks.

_She has it. She knows where Red John is._

She jumps to her feet, knocking over her chair, and races out of her office. When she skids to a stop in the bull pen, her heart sinks. Jane is gone and she knows he's figured it out. One step ahead of her, as usual.

"Where's Jane?" she asks, just in case.

Her agents look at her dubiously.

"He took out of her like a bat out of hell a couple minutes ago," Cho tells her. When he sees her face, he gets to his feet. "Boss?" he asks. "Did you…"

"I know where Red John is," Lisbon murmurs. "And so does Jane."

Her team stares at her for several seconds before jumping into action. They run around, preparing to go while she barks orders like a slave-driver. The commotion draws Hightower from her office.

"What is going on?" she demands.

"We know where Red John is," Rigsby tells her. "Jane already took off."

"Have you ordered a backup team?" Hightower wants to know. Cho nods, having just finished the task.

"We're set to go," he tells their boss.

Hightower nods briskly. "Good. Lisbon stays."

They all screech to a halt.

"What?" Lisbon demands. She knows she should be showing respect to her superior, but _what the hell?_

"You're too close," Hightower says. "The situation is already volatile and having you thrust into it will likely make it worse. Van Pelt, you stick around, too, and make sure she doesn't go anywhere."

"Yes, ma'am," Grace says in a small voice, shooting a worried glance at Lisbon who manages a small smile to reassure her rookie agent it's not her fault.

"Lisbon?" Hightower presses.

"Yes, ma'am. But I want to be in phone contact with Rigsby and Cho until they reach the scene." She crosses her arms and glares at her boss. Hightower nods.

"Acceptable."

"Fine," Lisbon snaps before turning back to her team and showering them with even more instructions than before. Before long, there is nothing else to do.

It's time.

"Go," Lisbon tells Cho and Rigsby. "Good luck."

They nod, apologies written all over their faces. Then they're gone, leaving the bullpen strangely silent. A moment later, Lisbon's phone rings. It's Rigsby, calling from the car. It's a (familiar) relief to be giving instructions and she finds herself talking a mile a minute.

Grace simply watches her, looking worried. Lisbon knows she's acting a little (or maybe a _lot_) crazy, but she can't (_seem to_) help it. She presses on, telling Rigsby and Cho everything she can think of, outlining every possible outcome.

Finally, she's run out of things to say.

"We're almost there," Rigsby says apologetically. "I should hang up now."

"I know." She wants to be there so badly. She _hates_ not having control of the situation. It makes her insane not to be able to do _everything_ she can (and attempt some things she _can't)._

"We'll be fine, boss," Rigsby tells her. "We've got this."

"I know. Good luck."

She hangs up and turns to Grace, who is paler than usual and shaking slightly.

"They're almost there," Lisbon tells her in a tight voice. She feels (dangerously) close to breaking, shattering into a million little pieces.

Grace nods. "I'm sorry," she says quietly.

Lisbon looks at her (pretending to be), confused.

"About Jane," Grace clarifies. "I have no doubt we're going to get Red John and everyone will be fine. But we know what Jane's planning. He may have already done it. And I'm sorry."

Lisbon can only nod, mute. After a few moments of (_agonizing…_) silence, she begins to pace. She (desperately) needs to relieve the (constant, never-ending, _gut-wrenching_) strain and the movement helps. She focuses on breathing in and out as she moves, timing the breaths to her step.

_Focus. Focus. Stay calm._ _Don't panic. Focus._

Grace watches her, eyes brimming with concern. Eventually, she seems to grow tired of Lisbon's relentless pacing and grabs her boss's arm.

"Lisbon," she says quietly. "This isn't helping. Come on and sit down." Gently, she tugs Lisbon to Jane's couch and they sit.

Lisbon has to force herself to sit still. Grace reaches for her hand and she lets her. She's desperate for an anchor, anything to keep her from going crazy.

_There is nothing they can do. Nothing at all._

And so they sit.

And they wait.

Xxx

**A/N 2: Bit of a cliffhanger for you. Thanks so much for reading and stick with me! I have the next chapter figured out in my head—I just have to write it.**


	8. Calling all Angels

**A/N: Hi there! Here's another chapter for you!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Title and lyrics belong to Train.**

**Xxx**

_I need a sign to let me know you're here_

_All of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere_

_I need to know that things are gonna look up…._

_xxx_

Chapter 8: Calling all Angels

Teresa Lisbon doesn't like waiting. She's never been the patient type and this kind of waiting, this agonizing, gut-wrenching wait, is nearly enough to send her to pieces.

When she was twelve years old, police officers came to the door. They told her father that her mother had been in an accident and that they should come to the hospital…_now._ She remembers her father gathering her and her brothers and loading them in the car.

She remembers the emergency room. They sat for hours…_waiting._ She watched her father pace back and forth (looking like another man entirely), raking his fingers through his hair so hard she was sure he'd pull it out. He didn't even look at them.

She remembers sitting there with her brothers. Little Jason in her lap, too young to really understand. Tommy with his head on her shoulder, pressed close against her side. And Bryan (_always the little warrior)_, trying to be brave and clutching her hand.

Waiting.

When the doctor (he looked like a pig, she thought) came, looking sorry and sad, she _knew _(without a _doubt)_ what he was going to say.

_She's gone._

They did everything they could. Damage was too severe. Sorry. So sorry.

On and on the pig-doctor went.

Her father was allowed to see her mother. Teresa was not. Too young, her father said. So she sat with her brothers and waited. They all cried uncontrollably, piling against her. Her eyes stayed dry until her father returned. Then she began to sob, collapsing into his chest. He swept them all into his arms, a neat little bundle.

It is the last time she remembers him being a real father.

After that, she was always waiting.

Waiting for him to come home after a night of drinking, worried about what sort of horrible things could have happened to him.

Hiding in her bedroom and waiting for him to leave so she could make the boys' dinner.

Waiting for the coroner's report to rule his death a suicide.

_Waiting…_

And now she waits again. Waits to find out if her team's survived their encounter with a notoriously brutal serial killer. Waiting to find out that the man she's (unfortunately) in love with is a murderer.

She's waiting.

Xxx

When her phone rings, Lisbon pounces, yanking her hand from Grace's clammy grasp.

"H-hello?" she stammers.

"Boss? It's Rigsby!" He sounds elated, joyful. There is laughter in his voice. "We _got_ him!" he cries.

"Got him?" she echoes. _Got him how?_

"We have Red John in custody!"

All of the air leaves her lungs in a painful rush and she feels the distinct need to vomit. "W-what?" she gasps. "What about Jane?"

Rigsby laughs (he sounds almost _giddy.)_ "He didn't do it!" he crows. "Jane's right here with us. He's fine. He didn't shoot Red John!"

She is too astonished to answer and Rigsby laughs again.

There is a commotion in the background and Rigsby pauses. "Okay," she hears him say to someone else. "Lisbon?" he says to her. "I gotta go. But we'll be back soon. I just thought you guys would want to know."

"Yeah," she manages to say. "Thanks." She hangs up, her hands shaking. Astonished (floored, flabbergasted, _shocked_) does not even _begin_ to cover how she's feeling.

"Well?" van Pelt asks, wide eyed. Taking a steadying breath, Lisbon relays what Rigsby told her.

"They got him," she says with no small amount of wonder. "They've _arrested_ Red John. Jane didn't shoot him."

Grace lets out something between a shriek of delight and a sob. Her hands fly to her mouth.

"Oh my God!" she gasps. "Lisbon…this means…"

"It's over," Lisbon finishes, her voice raspy. Because it is. It is (finally, _finally)_ over.

And then they are hugging, hanging on tight. For the moment they are not colleagues, not agents, not superior and rookie. They are friends who are (totally, utterly, _infinitely)_ relieved.

Red John is in custody. He can't hurt anyone anymore. He'll spend the rest of his life in prison and likely receive a death sentence. He'll die.

And Jane didn't kill him. For some (inexplicable, yet to be found out) reason, Jane didn't kill Red John.

"He did it for you," Grace says, reading her thoughts. "He didn't kill him for _you._"

"What?"

"It's the only explanation," the younger agent says with a gentle smile. "You are the only thing that could've kept him from doing it."

Lisbon can only hug her again, at a loss for words.

Xxx

When Cho, Rigsby, Jane, and their backup team enter the bullpen, a crowd has gathered. Everyone instantly bursts into applause. They clap and cheer for the people who've caught Red John, the brutal and notorious serial killer who has terrorized them for years.

Rigsby and Cho look slightly embarrassed, as do the members of the backup team. But Lisbon can hardly look at them.

Her eyes zero in on Jane.

He is standing slightly aside from the others, looking at her. He doesn't seem terribly upset or traumatized. He just…_is._ There's something different about him, something she can't quite figure out.

He is calm. His gaze is peaceful.

_He's free._

A (badly suppressed) cry leaves her throat and she charges toward him. She doesn't care who is watching, who sees. There's only him. Because she is (completely, totally, _undeniably)_ in love with him. She throws herself into his arms, winding her own around his neck. He hugs her tightly, taking her breath away.

"I couldn't do it," he murmurs in her ear. "I just couldn't do it, Lisbon."

"I know," she whispers before burying her face against his shoulder. They cling together for a few moments more before he leans back in order to capture her lips with his.

Gasps go up as well as a few catcalls from her team. She ignores them and loses herself in the kiss.

And, _damn,_ it's a _kiss._ Her back arches as he loops one arm around her waist and cradles her head with his other hand.

It's even better than she remembered (and that is _saying_ something).

It isn't until she needs oxygen that she pulls away. Her cheeks heat up when she realizes she's just been (_passionately)_ kissing Patrick Jane in front of the entire CBI. Luckily, she doesn't have long to be embarrassed before Hightower strides in.

"Jane," she says. "I need a word with you."

Jane nods agreeably, kisses Lisbon lightly (_in front of Hightower!)_ and follows her to her office.

Everyone stands in shocked silence for a few moments more before the extra people begin to filter away, congratulating Lisbon and her team as they go. Then, finally, there is peace. And privacy. Lisbon turns to Cho and Rigsby.

"You did it," she says softly.

"_We_ did it," Rigsby corrects. "All of us."

Lisbon nods before hugging him impulsively. "Yeah," she says. "All of us."

Xxx

When Jane emerges from Hightower's office half an hour later, he's grinning.

"I quit," he says cheerily. "Hightower's none too thrilled but I think she knows why." He looks at Lisbon. "Can I see you in your office?" he asks, holding out his hand.

She just looks at him for a second. It takes a slight nudge from Grace to get her moving, to take Jane's outstretched hand. He beams at her and tugs her toward her office.

"Are you sure about quitting?" she asks once the door is closed. She wants him (_so badly_) but she won't have him making sacrifices or compromises for her.

"Completely," he says. "Just like I'm sure of my decision not to kill Red John." He caresses her cheek with the back of his hand and she shudders.

"W-why didn't you?" she murmurs.

He gazes her with (_brilliant, breathtaking_) blue eyes. "Because of you," he says with heart-wrenching honesty. "I was standing there with the gun; I was going to shoot and no one could stop me." He pauses and takes her hands in his, kissing them lightly before continuing. "Then," he says, "Rigsby called out to me. He said to think of you. And I did."

"You did?" Her voice sounds small and childlike. She cannot fathom him giving up his quest for revenge because of _her._

"I did," he confirms. "Rigsby said that it would break your heart if I did it. If I killed Red John. He said I'd lose you and I knew he was right." He smiles broadly. There is no teasing in this grin. Just utter sincerity.

"Jane…" she breathes. He puts a finger over her lips to shush her.

"There is one thing in this world that is more important to me than revenge on Red John. And that's you. _You_, Teresa, are the most important thing."

She is crying now, unable to stop the steady flow of tears. He wipes them away before kissing her softly. It is gentle and brief but it says more than any passionate lip-lock ever could. When she opens her eyes, she sees he is crying, too.

"I love you," he says, his voice soft but intense. Her breath catches and she can hardly speak past the lump in her throat.

"I love you, too," she manages. "I tried not to, but…"

His lips crashing into hers cut her off. And she's kissing him again, melting into his chest. Her knees go weak and there is nothing, nothing but him.

Patrick Jane. Annoying, egotistical, arrogant (heroic, brilliant, _incredible)_ Patrick Jane who _loves_ her. He loves her.

_Patrick Jane loves her._

And so she loses herself in his kisses, giving herself over to her complete and utter joy. Because they are free.

_Both of them._

Xxx

**A/N 2: So, finally some Jisbon happiness! I think I'll have a couple more chapters to kind of wrap things up. Thanks so much for reading!**


	9. Ever Ever After

**A/N: We're coming to a close soon. Enjoy this installment. It's mostly just fluff and nonsense (:**

**Disclaimer: It's still not mine. Chapter title and lyrics belong to Carrie Underwood (**_**Enchanted**_** soundtrack)**

**xxxx**

Chapter 9: Ever Ever After

Xxx

_Your heart feels it's flying_

_Your head feels it's spinning_

_Each happy ending's a brand new beginning…_

_xxx_

"To catching Red John," Rigsby declares, lifting his glass.

"I'll drink to that," Jane says and they toast.

"It doesn't bother you that he's not dead?" Grace asks around a mouthful of pizza. They're all gathered at a nearby pizzeria for their customary celebratory meal.

Jane shakes his head. "It really doesn't," he says. "Now we get to fry the bastard in court!"

Everyone laughs. They are all in high spirits, buoyed by their success and probably the alcohol.

"Are you pissed you weren't there for the grand finale?" This question is posed by Rigsby, directed at Lisbon. She chuckles softly.

"Not really. I know why Hightower pulled me." She glances at Jane. "It was an explosive situation and it could've gotten ugly fast. My facing Red John was probably not a good idea—I was too close."

"Obviously," Grace says delightedly, looking at Lisbon and Jane's linked hands.

"Yeah," Rigsby pipes up. "When were you gonna let us in on that?"

Cho socks him. "Dude, mind your own business."

Jane shakes his head, unruffled. "No worries. And to answer your question, there wasn't really anything to tell."

"Until now," Lisbon adds. (Now that they've finally reached _someday._)

"Right," Jane agrees, tugging his hand from hers so he can stand up. "I'm gonna snag some more breadsticks," he says. "Be back." Lisbon watches him go before turning to her team. They're grinning at her.

"What?" she asks (even though she's pretty sure she knows).

"You look happy, boss," Rigsby says. "Really happy."

"I am," she says truthfully.

"Good," Cho declares, sounding surprisingly adamant (almost _emotional)._ "You deserve it."

"You both do," Grace says quietly, squeezing Lisbon's arm. "You waited a long time."

"Wait!" Rigsby cries. "You knew that they…that those two…?"

Cho rolls his eyes. "Dude," he says in a long-suffering tone, "if you couldn't tell you _really_ don't pay attention."

Rigsby frowns. "I suspected," he defends. "I mean, I was _pretty_ sure. About Jane at least. I mean, you're hard to read, boss…"

Lisbon laughs. "It's okay, Rigsby," she says, putting him out of his misery. "We didn't even talk to each other about it, really."

"Even though a blind man could've seen it," Cho grumbles, earning a punch in the arm from Rigsby.

"Boys," Grace says sternly. She looks to Lisbon for backup but Lisbon merely laughs. She's never spent time with her team without the weight of Red John and a million other things. This is new. She likes it.

"Thank you," she blurts out, speaking the thought as soon as it comes to mind (_before she can chicken out). _

"For what?" Rigsby wants to know.

She smiles (even as tears sting her eyes). "For not giving up, for catching him." She looks at Rigsby and Cho. "For convincing Jane not to kill him….thank you."

"We're your team," Cho says simply. "It's what we do."

"Well then," Lisbon says, lifting her glass. "To my team. For doing what they do."

Xxx

She takes Jane home with her that night.

"Just to sleep," he promises her. "Nothing else."

And so they climb into her bed and simply lie there. He spoons her, a perfect fit, and presses a kiss to the back of her head.

"Are you really okay?" she asks him. "With not killing Red John?"

(If he isn't, she can't be with him—she won't let him _settle_ for her.)

"I am," he promises, snuggling her closer. "You're worth it. I would've lost you if I'd killed him; it would have ruined everything. And that's exactly what he wanted. Moving on, being happy—they're the best kind of revenge."

"And you're happy?" she questions (she wants to be _sure_).

"Mmm," he sighs (_contentedly)_, "so happy."

They fall silent for awhile. When she finally speaks up again her voice is soft (_vulnerable)._

"Jane?" she says.

"Yes, my dear?"

_My dear._ He's said it a thousand times, flippantly often. She's never given it a second thought but it has a whole new connotation now.

_His dear._

"Teresa?" he prods. "You were saying something."

"Right," she says, shoving her musings aside. She hesitates, though. This has been bothering her and she isn't sure how to voice it. "You were married once already," she says finally. "And you loved her. I just…I want you to know I don't expect you to love me as much as you loved her. She was first and I understand that…"

In a surprisingly fluid motion, he rolls her over to face them. There is something akin to pain in his expression and she flinches.

"Teresa," he says gravely, "never say that again."

She is afraid he is angry with her but he reaches out to stroke her cheek (_comfortingly_).

"I loved her first, yes. But I _promise,_ Teresa, I love you equally. Just differently." He kisses her gently. "I love you," he murmurs. "You have no idea how much—or how long."

She closes her eyes as a few tears slide out (she's been crying entirely too much today).

"I love you, too," she whispers. He kisses her again.

"I know I haven't given you a lot of reasons to trust me," he says. "But I'm going to. I'll earn your trust, I promise."

She runs her fingers through his (impossibly _soft_) curls. "You did give me reason," she says. "Today. With Red John."

He smiles, wiping her tears. "You know," he says after a pause, "I always thought falling in love with someone else would be a betrayal to Rachel, you know? But it's _not. _Not with you. With you…it's right."

She wraps her arms around him and hangs on tight. "Don't ever stop missing them," she says fiercely. "Don't ever stop loving them."

"I won't," he vows. "And I'll never stop loving you."

"Promise?" she asks.

"Promise."

Xxx

When she wakes in the morning, he is not there. But one if his origami creations (a rose this time) lies on his pillow, a note beside it.

_Teresa,_ it reads, _went to get us some breakfast. The contents of your fridge are more than a little pathetic. Back soon. I love you. Patrick._

She sits up in bed and twirls the flower between her fingers as she ponders.

He'll probably have her drinking tea and eating meals that don't consist of takeout in no time. He's stubborn like that. Bossy. The thought makes her smile. They will be arguing for years to come, she hopes.

Her smile widens as she gets out of bed.

_They have years._

Finally, being in love with Patrick Jane doesn't seem so bad at all.

Xxx

**A/N 2: I think I'll have one more chapter and an epilogue on this. I have an idea for how I want them to go. I just have to write them. Thanks a bunch for reading!**


	10. Anyone Else but You

**A/N: Had a little writer's block with this one. Maybe since the main plot is basically over. This is mostly fluff and nonsense. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Title and lyrics by the Moldy Peaches**

**Xxx**

Chapter 10: Anyone Else but You

Xxx

_I don't see what anyone can see_

_In anyone else but you._

_xxx_

"How much do you love me?"

Lisbon rolls her eyes as Jane presses a kiss to her neck.

"Umm…" she says, pretending to think. "More than chocolate, less than coffee."

"You wound me," he says. "I love you _way_ more than tea!"

She shrugs innocently. "Those are the facts."

His eyes sparkle (_brilliantly_) as he pounces on her playfully and pins her down, kissing her soundly. When they finally have to come up for air, he's grinning.

"How about now?" he asks.

"I'm not sure," she teases. "Maybe we need to investigate this more."

"Is that so?" He plants a few kisses along her jaw, making her shudder.

Laughing at her, he continues to tease, kissing lightly everywhere but her mouth. Since he is Jane and she is Lisbon they are both (_relentlessly)_ stubborn.

"Now?" he asks.

"I'm still collecting evidence," she deadpans. She loves him more than she can put to words but it's (ridiculously) fun to tease him.

"Huh." He grasps the hem of her shirt and trails a row of kisses across her hipbones and stomach. When he reaches the scar from where she was shot by Wilkins, he pauses.

"Patrick?" she questions softly, running her fingers through his hair. He rolls to lie beside her, fingering the scar.

"I thought I'd lost you," he says. "That day. There was so much blood and you were in pain…and then you were unconscious…"

She closes her hand over his and lifts it to her lips.

"I know," she says. "But I'm here. You didn't lose me."

He's silent for a moment before the (fun-filled, charming, sexy) teasing smile returns to his face and he tickles her in the ribs. Shrieking slightly, she pulls away but he's too quick for her. He grasps her easily by the arms and pulls her face to his in a searing (heart-pounding, knee-weakening, mind-blowing) kiss.

When they were first together, she expected the fireworks to diminish over time. She expected that eventually his kisses would become (at least somewhat) ordinary.

They haven't.

Instead, with each passing day, it takes less and _less_ for sparks to fly. The slightest touch can put her on cloud nine for _hours._

She probably still needs to get a grip but it doesn't _matter._ Because he is hers.

When they come up for air, he holds her face in his hands.

"Well?" he asks breathlessly. "How much do you love me? More than coffee?"

She wraps her arms around his neck and leans close to his ear to whisper softly.

"More than anything."

Xxx

"How's the patient?" Jane asks, striding into Lisbon's living room. She glares at him.

"I am _not,_" she snaps, "a patient."

"You broke your leg," he counters, gesturing to her brand spanking new cast. "You're _injured_. And that makes you a patient."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm _fine._"

"It doesn't hurt at all?" he persists. "I doubt that."

She scowls at him. He can be so _ridiculous_ sometimes. (Or _most_ of the time…) "It barely hurts," she tells him. And it doesn't. Not now, anyway. He frowns, not looking convinced.

"Have it your way," he grumbles. "Anyway, I want to hear what happened. Rigsby just called to say you'd been hurt but he wouldn't tell me anything."

"Really?" she questions. "He didn't tell you?"

"Nope." He grins broadly. "And I'm guessing that since he kept laughing, it's a _good _one." He literally claps his hands in excitement. "Is it _embarrassing_, Lisbon?"

"No," she lies (badly). His smile widens as he shakes his head.

"It definitely is!" he crows. "You're getting all red and Rigsby could hardly contain himself."

"Rigsby thinks everything is funny," she huffs. She doesn't know why she's trying to convince him; he's impossible to win arguments with.

"Grace was laughing, too," he tells her. "Even Cho cracked a smile. So tell me. I'm _dying_ to know."

Wondering when it became so easy for him to talk her into things, she sighs.

"Fine. I was chasing a suspect. And we were in this park." She cringes, feeling her face heat up. He's watching her like an eager child. "Anyway, I was running after him and he was running toward this hill. And at the bottom of it there was a pond."

"You fell in the pond?" he questions. He looks (slightly disturbingly) delighted at the prospect, prompting her to smack him.

"No. At the top of the hill there were these ducks…"

"You tripped over a duck!" he exclaims, earning another smack on the arm.

"Not exactly. I tripped _because_ of a duck, rolled down the hill, and must've landed weird." She gestures to the cast covering the lower half of her right leg. "Hence, the broken limb."

He is literally _cackling_ with laughter. "I wish I could've seen it!" he exclaims. "Did anyone get a picture?"

She crosses her arms. "No. You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Probably not," he admits. "But I'm also going to make you your favorite dinner and we're going to eat it on the couch and watch a movie. Sound good?"

A smile tugs on her lips. "Yes," she agrees. "It does."

"Excellent." He kisses her forehead lightly. "I'll be in the kitchen. Holler if you need anything."

"Will do," she says, waving him off.

He pauses in the doorway. "And Lisbon?" he says.

"Yes?" His eyes are dancing in a way that tells her he's got some (smart ass) comment up his sleeve. He's grinning foolishly.

"Quack-quack," he says.

Ooo

It seems strange that (she cringes to admit it) tripping over a duck would make her feel more secure in her relationship but it does. It proves to her that they're still _them._ Jane is still his annoying and overly helpful self and she shrugs off his assistance whenever she can.

He laughs and pokes fun and even buys her a stuffed duck.

"I wanted to get a real one," he tells her, "but they don't really sell them."

He dotes on her until she's ready to kill him but it's surprisingly _nice_ to have someone around to help out. Someone to get things for her so she doesn't have to hobble around on her crutches. Someone to drive her places since her cast prevents her from doing it herself. Yes, he occasionally goes overboard. Yes, he quacks at her on occasion but she can't exactly blame him—she'd do the same thing if their positions were reversed.

At any rate, it somehow makes her feel (oddly, strangely, bizarrely) confident to have him caring for her, teasing her, loving her, and driving her crazy all at the same time. It's who they are. Maybe she's becoming (God forbid!) a _softie_, but this natural give and take means more than a thousand 'I love yous.'

Good God, she _is_ becoming a softie. And even worse, she doesn't _care._

Grabbing her crutches, she hobbles into the kitchen, where he is making her (yet another) dinner.

"Hey," he says cheerfully, holding out a spoon, laden with some kind of sauce. "Taste this."

She obliges, smacking her lips in the way she knows drives him nuts.

"Good," she decides, kissing his cheek lightly. "Jane?"

"Mmm-hmm?" He's already turned his attention back to whatever he's cooking.

"I love you."

He turns. "I know, Darkwing Duck," he says, utilizing his favorite newfound nickname for her. "I love you, too."

Ooo

"Are you sure you had enough breakfast?"

Lisbon rolls her eyes. "Plenty," she says. It's her first day back in the field after her 'accident' and Jane is acting downright parental.

"Just making you've got your nourishment," he defends. "Big day."

"Tell me about it," she says, pacing the kitchen, making sure she has everything. "Are we meeting for lunch?"

"Absolutely." He grins. "It'll have to be quick, though. I've got a magic show at the nursing home in the morning and the preschool in the afternoon."

"Right, Houdini," she teases. "Tough crowds."

"You know it." He catches her wrist to stop her in her mad dash. "Go get 'em today," he says. She smiles slightly.

"I will. You too." She kisses him quickly and hurries for the door.

"Teresa?" he calls.

She stops. He (usually) only uses her first name when he's being particularly serious or intimate (she'll never tell him, but she likes it). So she's expecting something at least _somewhat_ profound (coming from him, anyway).

He grins, a teasing glint in his eye. (Oh, boy.)

"What Jane?" she asks impatiently. He hops up and strides over to grasp her shoulders and look her in the eye.

"Watch out for ducks."

Xxx

**A/N 2: Just an epilogue after this. Thanks so much to all of my loyal readers and reviewers. Hugs! BTW, Darkwing Duck is a cartoon character, in case you don't know. He was pretty popular when I was younger.**


	11. Epilogue: I Hear the Bells

**A/N: Here is the epilogue! Just kind of a fluffy wrap-up but it should make you Jisbon fans out there happy :)**

**Disclaimer: Do not own. Title and lyrics by Mike Doughty**

**xxx**

Epilogue: I Hear the Bells

Xxx

_I can _

_Hear the bells_

_Are ringing joyful and triumphant…_

_xxx_

Her mother always told her that being in love was the best feeling in the world. It was intoxicating, exhilarating, _magical._ At twelve, Lisbon believed her entirely, without question.

Now, she's willing to accept it with a few caveats.

For one, the person you love has to love you back. Unrequited love isn't magical or beautiful or any of the things her mother promised. The costs of loving without being loved in return (far, _far_) outweigh the benefits.

Second, you need to be _with_ the person you love. Love from afar might look romantic and fabulous in the movies but she knows (from experience, unfortunately) that it's _not._ The joy of loving someone comes from being _with_ that person.

She's lucky, she knows, to have those things. And since she does, she can conclude that maybe her mother was not (entirely) deluded about the whole thing. Under the right conditions love can be intoxicating, exhilarating, and magical. It can actually be the _best_ feeling in the world.

Her mother wasn't in love with Patrick Jane but Lisbon is (completely, thoroughly, almost _embarrassingly_) and she can finally believe (at least a little bit) in the same fairy tale.

"Watcha thinking about?"

Jane is smiling at her, lit up by the setting sun. It's set his golden hair aglow so it looks a little like a halo, making him almost look like an angel. (_Ironic,_ she thinks.)

"Love," she admits. He laughs delightedly.

"You _have_ gone soft on me," he declares, catching her hand in his and kissing her fingertips.

"Not too soft," she assures him. "I have a reputation to protect."

"So I can't tell Grace and the guys that their boss is really just a big marshmallow on the inside?" he teases.

"Nope." She tears her gaze from his face (_damn, he's hot)_ and looks out at the ocean. He's dragged her to the beach for the weekend, stating that she needs to 'let loose' a little. So far, it's consisted of lounging on the beach and a lot of sex.

(Not that she's particularly _opposed _to either of those things.)

After several minutes of silence stretch by, she glances at him. He's staring at her, expression unreadable. She can almost _see_ the gears turning but she hasn't the faintest idea what he's thinking about.

"Alright there?" she asks him.

He nods absently. "Just thinking."

She pats his cheek. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Funny." He falls silent for a moment before digging into his pocket. "Remember this?" he asks.

She stares at the object in his hand. It's his wedding ring. He took it off when they first started dating and she hasn't seen it in ages. She's always known he kept it but she's surprised he actually has it on his person.

"Of course," she says in answer to his question. (She's not jealous, she's not, she's _not.)_

She's so busy trying to convince herself, she almost misses it when he takes a few steps closer to the water's edge and heaves the ring as far as he can. (He has a surprisingly good arm.)

"What the hell?" she cries. She might find it odd that he's been carrying the ring but she didn't expect him to _get rid_ of it.

"It was time," he says with a shrug. "Besides, I want to ask you something."

"Okay," she says slowly, not seeing the connection between tossing the ring and asking her a question.

He digs in his pocket again, this time pulling out a small, black box. She gapes at him, a (_very un-Lisbon-like_) gasp leaving her throat. Taking her hand, he actually _gets down on one knee_ in front of her.

"Teresa," he says quietly. "I love you. I think you know that."

She nods, not trusting her voice. (She really _is_ becoming a softie…)

"You've changed my life in probably every way imaginable," Jane continues. "You helped me find purpose and _justice._ You made me into something other than a vengeful sociopath; you saved me from myself."

Again, she can only nod (_overwhelmed…_). He grips her hand tighter and goes on. She's acutely aware of other beach-goers pausing in what they are doing to watch.

"I don't believe in fate," he tells her. "But I've learned to believe that good things can come from bad. And you, my dear, are the _best_ thing that ever happened to me. I'd relive _everything_ I went through to ensure I could be with you. You're brilliant and strong and courageous. You're beautiful and compassionate. And you put up with _me._"

She wipes a few tears from her eyes, finally able to get a word in edgewise.

"Ask already," she whispers. He grins, flipping open the box to reveal a sparkling diamond ring and she gasps right along with the crowd that's gathered.

"Teresa," he says, "my love. Will you marry me?"

Her heart feels like it's going to explode (_exhilarating, intoxicating, magical…)_. She can hardly breathe.

"Yes," she manages to say, tears spilling down her face. "Yes, I will marry you."

Amid the applause of their swimsuit-clad audience, he slides the ring onto her finger before jumping to his feet and kissing her (_the best feeling in the world)._

"We made it," he says, hugging her tight. "We officially made it."

"Made it where?"

He laughs, even as he cries (_finally, they can cry for joy and not sorrow). _He kisses her again, until her knees go weak and she can hardly think straight.

"To someday, silly," he says. "We made it to someday. Someday is _now._"

"Now," she echoes. "We made it to now."

They've made it. They've made it to _now_. And it's magical, exhilarating, intoxicating—everything her mother promised and a thousand things more. Their _someday_ has become their _now_ and _this_ is the best feeling in the world.

"To now!" Jane says, picking her up and spinning her around.

"To now," she agrees.

The crowd that's still gathered begins to applaud again. They don't know the details, obviously, but they seem to understand what a long (difficult, _painful_) journey it's taken to get here. So they take up the cheer, celebrating true love (with no caveats).

"To now!"

Xxx

_The bells are ringing joyful and triumphant._

**-**_**fin-**_

Xxx

**A/N 2: The end! Thanks so much to everyone who has read this story! I hope you liked it. I MAY be writing a sequel eventually, we'll see. Thanks again! **


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